Two worlds
by Mattora
Summary: When Thranduil is killed as he comes to Thorin's aid when Smaug attacks the Erebor, his son is left behind orphanded... Who will take care of the young elf prince, now that his people are gone? Finished.
1. Autumn

**Two Worlds**

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**Characters: Thorin, Legolas**

**Setting: AU, Middle earth**

**Part 1/4 **

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**Summary: Thranduil, who came to aid the dwarfs in their battle against the dragon Smaug has fallen, his people **** annihilated by the beast as revenge; but in the depths of Menegroth, a little boy survived...**

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**~ Autumn 2770 ~**

The dwarf king's heart broke as he wandered the ruins of Menegroth - grand Menegroth, once the proud, beautiful city of the elves of Mirkwood, ancient stronghold of their kind. The shining white marble was burst and blackened, the merry halls which saw thousands of feasts destroyed by fire and rage, molten stone formed in bizarre formations.

Thorin Oakenshield regretted returning here, thinking it a sorry place to put his noble friend to rest beneath molten stone - he who had always loved the cool, living green of the woods.  
A quiet sob came to the dwarf's ear as he bowed in front of the crushed throne of Thranduil, great leader of Silvan elves and brave warrior, crying,"Father?"

Wondering, Thorin climbed through the debris, looking for might be calling, surprised to find anybody still alive in Thranduil's halls after Smaug had devastate the mountains. Two scared eyes peeked at him from behind a broken statue, quickly vanishing as the dwarf who was sooted and dirty from his journey through the dead woods came at him.

"Do not be afraid child, I will not harm you! Please, do come forth - I am your friend!"

Scared, the little boy tried to hide, squealing when two strong hands reached out for him, leaving black spots on his dripping wet clothes as they drew him forth.

"By all good that is still in this world – I do not believe my eyes! You are alive! Thranduil's son lives!", Thorin cried, for a moment believing he truly was looking at his friend, his son looking so much like him. He found himself smiling for the first time in five days, gladdened to find one elf still alive, his white teeth a singular contrast to his sooted appearance; for even his eyes were grey with dirt and red from shedding too many tears.

"Do not be scared little prince, do not cry! I did not mean to startle you! Tell me- what is your name dear boy?"

Confused, the blond boy stared at the wild dwarf, who demanded to know his name as if he knew him, answering him with an intimidated voice,

"Legolas... My name is Legolas, son of Thranduil."

"Green leaves... A fitting name for the heir of the woods indeed. May you live to see the trees of Mirkwood carry leaves again young prince! I am forever indebted to your father's bravery, and will take care of you in his stead. I shall fight to restore your kingdom, rebuilding your halls once I reclaimed the Erebor. I am Thorin Oakenshield, king under the mountain, forever at your service."

The little face went dark with sorrow, his green eyes becoming clouded; Thorin thought the elf child strikingly beautiful, truly not from this world, his face barely blemished by the burn scar on his right cheek.

"Thank you for your kind words, king under the mountain. Please, will you sing a dirge for my father and people? I can not sing it by myself – for I never saw an elf die until the dragon came here-"

The dwarf drew the little elf boy into his arms, holding him close, letting him mourn for the countless lives Smaug had claimed, lessening his pain by sharing it.

"I do not know any song of your people, forgive my ignorance... But if you will have me, I shall sing the song of kings, lain to rest in the mountains older than time, in honor your father who's honor and strength was as great as my forefathers."

Legolas did not object, letting the dwarf pick him up with ease, singing a song of grief and sorrow in a strange tongue the halls of Thranduil had never heard before, the broken walls ringing with the dwarf king's powerful voice.

Ashes whirled through the destroyed gates, a grey shroud covering Thraindul's halls and slain people, whilst the dragon was resting on his hoard in the Erebor, carelessly throwing aside the bodies of dwarfs soiling his gold.

Carrying the tired child in his arms, Thorin Oakenshield headed for the east to find the few dwarfs left of Durin's folk, never once looking back, holding his head up high as he left behind the only home he had ever know.


	2. Winter

_Thank you Luwen for your support! :)_

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**Two Worlds**

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**Characters: Thorin, Legolas**

**Setting: AU, Middle earth**

**Part 2/4 **

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**Summary: Thranduil, who came to aid the dwarfs in their battle against the dragon Smaug has fallen, his people **** annihilated by the beast as revenge; but in the depths of Menegroth, a little boy survived...**

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**~ Winter 2857 ~**

"Let me help you."

"Legolas, this work is not fit for a king's son!, the dwarf tiredly shook his head, refusing the elf to come to his aid, even if his back was sore from carrying potatoes all day. The young man but smiled, and easily shouldered one of the sacks, ignoring the protests of his foster-father.

"If it is work fit for a _king_, it surely is fit for a king's _son_ adar."

Thorin sighed, rolling his eyes at the clouded skies, scolding the young elf, "Legolas, I am not your father-"

"I know Thorin – that is why I call you adar."

"And you are not a dwarf. Besides, if you ended up hurting yourself-"

"I'll heal-", Legolas quipped good-humoredly, walking the frozen snow, not sinking in despite the heavy weight he carried.

"- I would never forgive myself.", the dark-haired dwarf angrily interrupted the careless boy.

The young elf laughed, throwing the heavy sack up in the air, just to catch it again with a sure hand, after scaring his adopted father to death for a split moment.

"_Legolas_! Stop this!"

"Oh adar, do not be such a mother-hen - can you not see I am grown-up? I am strong now, and can easily carry just as much as you can. Do not worry all the time!"

"Easy for you to say! You are not responsible for the fate of a juvenile elf!", Thorin huffed, dropping the last sack into the cellar, groaning as he straightened his back. Legolas easily put his bag down, and took the stairs two steps at once, quick as a flash, turning round laughing.

"Now, let us go inside, so you do not have to worry a snowflake might harm me – and do rest a bit whilst I prepare our meal. You look worn out from your journey!"

Thorin did not answer his foster son, trudging through the snow, sinking in up to his knees. The journey to the Iron Hills had been a failure, as Dain would not even listen to his plea, not willing to send one warrior to the Erebor and sacrifice it to the dragon's wrath; even Dís, lovely little sister, only daughter of Thraín, did not support his quest anymore, expecting her first child, urging him to come and live with her in the Iron Hills.

Looking at the young elf, who bustled about the house chattering, Thorin wondered how he ever could leave the boy behind or sent him away, to live with Elron in Rivendell, knowing how his heart would break to never be mended at his betrayal.  
When he had first come to the Iron Hills, the elf child by his hand, shyly hiding for the curious stares of the countless dwarfs gathering in the main hall, Thorin knew these hills were not meant to be his home. He choose to rather live by himself and wander the plains as the seasons changed, working as a blacksmith, than break his oath and see Thranduil's son suffer from bigotry and malice under the hills.

Legolas did not mind their rootlessness, as to him it meant endless wandering through the woods - the beloved, green leaved woods of middle earth, so much like his father's lost kingdom the sight of trees and animals of the forest often brought tears to his eyes. But as long as his foster-father was by his side, the young elf did not consider himself unlucky, and at times, came thinking himself blessed.

When Elron, the great elf king came and offered to take him as a son to live in his house, Legolas refused him, much to the wise elf's surprise.  
The Silvan elves had shared neither great animosity nor friendship with the Erebor dwarf, their people on friendly, but not warm terms; for a child of one race to choose one of the other as father, rather than one his own kind, had never been heard of before.  
All of Elron's pleading and scolding had not changed the elf child's mind, and seeing how the child would rather perish than leave his side, Thorin would not let the elf king claim the child by force- even if his deed earned him the everlasting wrath of Elron.

"How about some beer to go with the pork?", Legolas asked the black-haired dwarf, amused to find Thorin fast sleep in his wing chair.  
The king under the mountain was barely hundred-elven years old, but the live in exile was taking a high toll on him; though stubborn as only a dwarf could be, he never would admit it to the young elf. Fixing the table, Legolas patiently waited for his foster-father to awake from his nap, thinking it best to let him rest for the moment.

Thorin Oakenshield was working hard to keep his promise, to restore Mirkwood to its rightful heir, and often Legolas found himself frustrated by his adar's bedside, looking down on his worn-out face and overworked hands.

If only he let him learn his trade! If only he let him help him!

The elf prince did not blame Thorin the least for the loss of his father's kingdom, thinking the dragon would have come to Mirkwood no matter what his father Thranduil had done – but the king under the mountain wished to redeem himself, not letting Legolas do any hard work, treating him like he would his own son, spoiling him whenever he could.

"Poor, stubborn adar... It was not your fault.", Legolas whispered, wondering if Thorin Oakenshield's fate would have been different, had he not chosen to stay by his side scorning Elron. But the dwarf king would not have forgotten about his oath any way, and alienated himself from his people still, wishing to reclaim Erebor and Mirkwood, even had he not been the one to take care of the elf prince.

The young elf was saddened by the thought of how his adar would not ever find peace, not amongst dwarfs nor men, not in the woods nor under the mountain, as long as he had not restored the son of Thranduil to his rightful place, never once doubting this was Legolas true wish as well.


	3. Spring

**Two Worlds**

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**Characters: Thorin, Legolas**

**Setting: AU, Middle earth**

**Part 3/4 **

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**Summary: Thranduil, who came to aid the dwarfs in their battle against the dragon Smaug has fallen, his people **** annihilated by the beast as revenge; but in the depths of Menegroth, a little boy survived...**

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**~ Spring 2857  
**

"Little uncle! Huuuurry!", the dwarf boy cried, waving at the exhausted dwarf who stood at the foot of the hill, in vain trying to keep up with his nephews and foster-son. The sun was setting in the west, the fading lights illuminating the Iron Hills as if they were cast in gold, causing Thorin to gaze at them in wonder for a moment, surprised to find such beauty outside the mountains.

"Shall I come down and carry you adar?", Legolas called, smiling at his foster-father. He was glad Thorin had agreed to spent the winter in the Iron Hills with his sister this year, and his health had much improved thanks to the quiet care of Dís and her sons' joyfulness, keeping the heir of the Erebor for brooding whilst he rested.

"Little uncle! Hurry or the sun will be over!", Kíli cried, his little hands buried in Legolas hair, riding his shoulder happily, not afraid of the height. The elf stood ten dwarf feet seven inches, towering any resident of the Iron Hills – but for a royal elf, the young elf was remarkably small.

He was broad-shouldered, with strong arms and rough hands, his hair braided to not fall block his view; Thorin did not know if he should be amused or saddened to find his foster-son looking more dwarfish than elfish – how was he to be an elf king one day? His people would never accept him!

"Tall uncle Legolas- who is that?", Fíli asked, pointing at a small dot moving between the hills, fading and reappearing constantly as he approached the Iron Hills.

"I think it is a messenger, who comes to see your father – shall we stay and watch him?"

"Yes! Please!", Fíli cried, exited to see a horse for the first time in his life.

Thorin had climbed the hill, and squinted his eyes, wondering who would come to see Dain this time of the year; the passes to the western regions were still blocked, and no merchant would be traveling by himself through the Orc-invested Misty Mountains.

"Haha, what a funny rider! He has hat that is all pointy!", Kíli said laughing, having the best view of the four awaiting the messenger. Thorin frowned, know only one kind of man to cover their head in such fashion; but what would a wizard want from a dwarf king?

Gandalf looked at the group standing on top of the largest hill, and though he could only make out their silhouette against the setting sun, he knew he had found the dwarf he was looking for; for no other dwarf was seen these days in the company of a dwarf, their ancient friendship a memory of the past. Maybe, when the quest he would send the young dwarf king for was complete, the wonders of amity between elves and dwarfs would be restored, and great sorrow would be averted; so strong was the old man's longing to see those dream come true his fingers went white, holding onto the key to the adventure.

As the rider approached quickly, Legolas realized he was not headed for the city of Dain, but for them instead, and looked worried down to met his foster-father's eyes.

"You take the children with you Legolas. Now.", Thorin told the elf, before slowly walking down the hill to meet the rider at its feet, the tall grass reaching up to his waist.

Gandalf steadied his horse, and looked at the dwarf who was to set things in motion that would change the fate of Middle Earth for hundreds of years to come. The old magician was pleased with what he saw - Thorin Oakenshield an earnest, strong dwarf, with a defiant look in his blue eyes, ready to fight the man should he threaten his kin, but with a good heart beating in his chest.

"I am looking for Thorin Oakenshield – may you tell me, where do I find him?"

The dwarf looked at the old man, irritated by his amused smile; was he mocking him?

Seeing the young dwarf's eyes darken, Gandalf regretted his blunt approach; he had not meant to irk the heir of the Erebor, but alas, it was too late.

"He stands in front of you stranger – what is your business with me?", Thorin asked the old man, his voice harsh, his hand touching the hilt of his sword.

The old man's eyes were sad, as he looked down at the king under the mountain, his words carefully chosen to calm the dwarf, "I am Gandalf, and I once knew your father, young Thorin Oakenshield – I wished to see his son one of these days, and talk to him - if he shall suffer my companionship any more, for I have offended him with my words, which I regret deeply."

His hand move way from the sword, but Thorin's eyes did not soften at the humble words, though he tried to be polite to the stranger claiming to know him, "If you were my father's friend, you shall be my guest Gandalf, though there is not much I can offer you besides a meal and a good night's rest."

"That will be more than enough my friend."

As he dismounted, Gandalf slipped the key back into his pocket, feeling tired and sombre as he followed the young dwarf to the entrance of Dain's halls. The sun had long set, darkness covering the hills; as he looked up, the elf and the dwarf children had vanished from the mountain top, hiding in the tunnels. No, tonight he would not be able to convince Thorin Oakenshield of the importance of his quest. The magician knew it would be a long time, before the stubborn dwarf would listen to a word he said, and accepted the key Gandalf had found by the charred remains of Thrain, former heir of the kingdom under the mountain; maybe hundred years would pass by, before he would set forth to reclaim his kingdom – or maybe, he would not ever ride for the Erebor again?

Gandalf tried to reassure himself - for if he had been able to wait hundred years already, why hurry now?


	4. Summer

**Two Worlds**

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**Characters: Thorin, Legolas**

**Setting: AU, Middle earth**

**Part 4/4 **

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**Summary: Thranduil, who came to aid the dwarfs in their battle against the dragon Smaug has fallen, his people **** annihilated by the beast as revenge; but in the depths of Menegroth, a little boy survived...**

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**~ Summer 3021 ~  
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"Good evening, Mister Bilbo."

Bilbo smiled as he slowly got up to greet his guest, his wooden leg clacking on the floor as he crossed the room.

He had left the door open, enjoying the warm summer air as he waited for his visitor, just like he did every year on this night.

The young elf king not any looked different from the day he had last seen him, and Bilbo found him to be even fairer, and more beautiful than before – but not for one whisper on the wind happier, his face pale and sad.

With ease the tall elf bent down and embraced the old hobbit, careful to not unsettle the small Hobbit's balance as he let go ever so gently, his hands resting on Bilbo's fragile shoulders for a moment. The Hobbit smiled happily, his eyes not as sharp as they used to be, blinking to take in the beautiful elf, adorned with gold and silver, carrying the most marvelous, breathtaking Arkenstone in his slender crown.

"Good evening, Mister Legolas – no, forgive, **King** Legolas! I sure hope you will be my guest for the night? Rosie made us a cake – you know, the one you love so much, a sponge cake! With strawberries by the side! Oh, it would be a shame to let it go to waste; for you know I could never eat it all by myself!"

The elf chuckled, shaking his head, "Oh, do not call me King, I beg you! Please, let me be just Legolas to you, as I used to be! But you lovely gobbler, I've never seen a more well-fed Hobbit than you old friend! You surely could save the poor sponge cake from its inglorious destiny in a moment!"

Legolas had seen the sly Hobbit to eat half of their company's provisions and still claiming to be hungry - only Mister Bombur of Moria had proved to be a bigger eater, both of them almost ruining their company back then. Now, the old hobbit's pouch had grow to an enormous extent and his velvet waistcoat could barely contain all of him – Legolas briefly wonder how his wooden leg could support all the weight put upon it, or if he should forge him an iron leg one of these days.

"Now, do not be cruel to an old man Legolas! You know since Frodo left, Rosie's cooking is all the joy that is left to me!  
Seeing how the elf looked saddened by the words intended to humor him, Bilbo hurried to take back his lament, "Now, Legolas, why are you sad- this is just a foolish hobbit complaining, as we elders always do! I still do have Sam and Rosie here with me, and all their lovely children, who look upon me with all love and care as if I was their grandfather – Oh, do you know, Sam wants to name the next baby after me? Such a honor! But I hope he will have a live without any adventures, haha! See? I am the happiest Hobbit of the Shire! So do not worry, let us eat the cake!"

The tall elf ducked beneath the chandelier as he followed the hobbit into the kitchen, smiling at the memory of Gandalf the Grey again and again hitting there his head when he crossed the hall. It seemed to be eons ago they had all sat together in these halls – he and his friends, back then all young and able-bodied, their hearts strong and courageous, longing for gold and revenge.

The elf could not grasp that not even 300 years had passed since his adar had come and found him, taking him in as a son. To an elf, 300 years should mean less than the blink of an eye, less than a flower withering, less than rain falling - but to the young King of the Mirkwood, it seemed like he had lived a thousand lives to end, and wished to see no more, for he was all by himself now as he often thought.

Many grand elves, the ring bearer and Gandalf had left Middle Earth for the West this year's spring; only old Bilbo Baggins had refused the great honor bestowed onto him, for reasons unbeknownst to any but those who had traveled with the odd Hobbit in the old days. For a hobbit's heart was a of gold and iron in times of need, and never let go of a true friend, not in live nor death – but only those had ridden to battle with one of their kind would ever know how grand the small folk truly was.

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As they sat in front of the cool fireplace in the living room, the cake all gone - most of it eaten by Hobbit, despite him having a huge dinner before - Bilbo closed his eyes, sighing happily, content in the comfort of his home. The old hobbit had hoped with all his heart to see his dear elf friend once more, and having Legolas by his side, he found he could truly rest in peace.

After a while, a timid voice interrupted his slumber; when Bilbo opened his eyes, he found a pale, frightened elf kneels at his side, his slender hand cold as ice against his cheek.

"Bilbo, stay with me! _Do not leave me_!"

The old Hobbit tried to soothe the scared elf and warm his cool hands, wishing to take away the pain tormenting him for eighty years now, "Na, Legolas, do not cry- I am only sleeping, do you not see?"

The elf king shook his head, the golden beads and jewels adorning his hair tinkling softly, his green eyes dark with fear, "No, do not fall asleep, I am begging you... All you mortal children go to sleep, and you never wake up again! Leaving us, the cursed ones, behind to forever stand vigil by your taves – so do not sleep, dear Bilbo! Do not go to sleep!"

Bilbo smiled sadly, wondering when the young elf's hair had become white as snow – had grief turned him old? Legolas, born to be an ever youthful immortal, old?  
"So, I will stay awake as long as you are here my dear Legolas – though you are being very inconsiderate on an old hobbit, my boy! Say, if we shall not sleep, let us have some wine! I think I have _just_ the bottle for such an occasion!"

Legolas watched Bilbo hobble for the kitchen, and quietly sat back onto the wing chair, which was much to small for him - a welcome reminder of a time when everything surrounding him was so much smaller and so much dearer to him.

The heat of the day was long gone, and shivery, the elf wished for a crackling fire to warm him, like his dear Gimli used to make them when they rode together. So many friends he had found, so many friends he had lost – how long would it be before Gimli would leave him too? Fifty years? Hundred? Two-hundred?

The war of the ring was over, and a quiet, generous peace had returned to all of Middle Earth woods and fields and homes. Aragon was a wise, gentle king in the great White City, beloved by his wife and all of his people, his name honored and great. Gimli had again ridden for Moria, to battle the last orcs residing in the mines, with an great army of young dwarfs and elves - and he had been victorious, sending for Legolas to come and celebrate with him.  
But the night of Thorin Oakenshield's death at the gates of the Erebor was not a night to celebrate this year, and not all the years to come, no matter what deed to be done; for the crown weighed heavy on the elf king's brow on those nights, reminding him of the bitter price the dwarf king had paid to fulfill his promise finally.

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"Here, there I have it, a bit dusty but - oh, how well it will taste!", Bilbo cried as he returned, and the elf hurried to take his glass and return the Hobbit's friendly smile, not wishing to cause the elder any suffering from his dark, grievous memories, as Bilbo apparently had moved on in life long since the battle for the old kingdom, his peace fully restored.

"Let us drink Legolas! Ha, if you can open that old and restive bottle, that is!"

"Leave it to me Bilbo, my people know of ways to open secret passages your kind shall never learn!", Legolas joked, but there was no joy in his words; for deeply he regretted being born to his kind, born as one of the blessed children of Ilúvatar, who not even in death could join the ones they had choose to love.

Finally, the cork came out of the green, dusty bottle, and a lovely, strong smell rose from - Bilbo surely had not lied, speaking of a special wine for a special occasion.

"Please, do hand me your glass dear old friend, and let us drink-", Legolas stopped, wondering to what they should be drinking to.  
Was there anything left in this world to drink to for him?

"To our friends!", Bilbo cried in his stead, his wrinkled face glowing with joy, already drunk on the memories which had come to his mind as he looked for this particular bottle, buried securely in the depths of his ancient oaken chest.

Swords, papers, gold, silver – so many treasures, so many memories shimmering in the candle light! He had forgotten about them for many a year – the book Ori took his notes in, the hammer Dwalin gave him to fix his house when they parted, Dori's favorite cup, the old, torn contract Balin handed him, Bofur's flute, Oin's salve for the stump of his leg, which had been bitten off in the battle for the Erebor, the key given to him by the most noble of them all, Thorin Oakenshield, so dear to him...

"Let us drink to our friends, and the lives we got to share – Let us drink to all of our beloved Legolas! May we see them again and rejoice!"

"To... To our friends...", the elf king murmured, sipping on the heavy wine, wondering whom had brewed such beverage, for he had not tasted anything like it ever before. Sweet, but bitter, gentle, but strong - it was as if some one had been able to put live itself into

"It is good, isn't it?", Bilbo asked the quiet elf, brimming with joy as he looked about the room, his heart beating faster as he spotted old-familiar faces in the darkness only his eyes could see.

"It is very good – a shame you only share it now dear friend... You are quite a hoarder- Bilbo?"

Worried, Legolas put down his glass, and reached out for his hobbit friend, the serene look on his friend's worn-out face frightening him.

"Bilbo? Where are you? _Speak to me_!"

The Hobbit smiled, resting his head on the elf's shoulder, his eyes seeing things the elf could not, "I am here Legolas, here... I am here... Do not be sad, I will always be here … me, and all the others – look, don't you see them? There they are... Waiting for us... Oh Legolas, if only you could see! There is Balin, waving at me... and Dwalin, carrying a barrel... and Thorin, with his crown and orcrist – oh! Please tell me you see him too! Tell me you do!"

Tears rose to the elf's green eyes, who could not see what the old Hobbit was seeing in his final moments; oh, how much he wished for Bilbo's words to be true!

That there was hope and reunion, even in death, that nothing was lost!

But he could not believe his words, and desperately begged him, "Bilbo, do not go with them... I am begging you, do not go! Come with me and Gimli to the Western Lands, where you will not-"

"But they …. are all here Legolas – why should I leave them now? ...", Bilbo replied tiredly, closing his eyes as he no longer needed them to see, his body going limp in the elf king's arms, who clung to him like he was sinking into cold waters, shaking with fear, losing the last friend of the time with his beloved adar.

"Do... not... cry... for we … will meet.. again...", Bilbo murmured, his mind fading away as his soul was untied, his heart finally resting, after besting through the longest life any hobbit had ever lived.

"No... do not leave me... please...", the elf king cried, holding the dead body of his friend in his arms, begging for the gods to spare him - for the fate of his people seemed too bitter to him now, cursed to live for all times, suffering till all days and worlds were gone.

"Do no leave me Bilbo! Do not leave me!"

* * *

The summer night seemed to whisper to itself, dark and warm, a patient companion to the elf king who fled the Hobbit home in the hills, wandering the Shire as he mourned for the many friends he had buried – for fathers, brothers, friends, beloved in any form their short lives had given them.

Legolas wished for the night to not end, and the sun to never again rise in the east - the glorious, blinding, eternal reminder of impermanence and change.

Cursed fates, cursed times! Why had he been given a heart, so he would know only misery?

"Adar! Adar! Do not leave me alone!", the elf cried, sinking to the ground as the first light of morning touched the shire, sobbing pitiful, no strong arm to hold him by his side, no caring words to lessen his pain coming to his ear.

"I do not need a kingdom! I do not need a crown! If only you had lived, I'd happily lived as a blacksmith's son - if only at your side!", Legolas bitterly complained as the sun rose over the hill tops, rays of lights dancing on the wet grass and falling through the Arkenstone, refracting and illuminating all that surrounded the elf king.

The young elf king stared at the lights in wonder, stunned by their beauty, not believing his very eyes.

He had lived in the shadows for long, hiding in mountains and woods, not seeking the light, sure all that Thorin had left to him was the darkness of grief...

Seeing the light surrounding him, Legolas was appalled by his own wastefullness, for his mad wish to throw away the live his adar had worked so hard to give to him – no! How could he throw away a gift so precious? How could he not understand, for all these years, the love forever given to him?

The young elf king caroled as he jumped up, his step sure and strong as he hurried for the east, to return to his kingdom in the Mirkwood, where he would see his dear Fíli, king of the Erebor, and his dear Kíli, King of the Iron Hills, and of course his Gimli, his brave and honorable friend of new times, and all the others whom had traveled with him!

"Forgive me adar, I am not worth of being your son – please, be patient with your stubborn child! For I will go and live, and see my life filled with your light – and I will live and pass on your name, and those of all our friends, and I will tell your tale until the end of time comes, and we shall meet again, in the light that never will fade!"

Legolas laughed, his voice sweet and clear as he sung a new song, celebrating the new life given to him, "_I will be the light of the day, and I will brighten their days! I shall love the darkness no more, for it is lonely_ – See! Do watch me adar, and be proud of your son! I will cause you no more grief until we met again! _I will be the light of the day, and I will brighten their days! Nothing shall ever be forgotten, as love remembers all! Bright shines the stone of light, as all the grief is gone!_"

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THE END


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